“Do so, by all means; ’twill be some comfort to know that my man is taking the right course.”

We sat till near midnight, and Mr. Allardyce recovered something of his usual good spirits before I rose to say good night.  As he shook hands with me he broke into a sudden laugh.

“Egad!” he cried, “I had forgot to ask you whether you still have that crown piece you were so loath to part with.”

“Indeed I have,” I said, laughing too.  “It is slung about my neck, and there it will remain until I return it with interest to Dick Cludde.”

“Dick Cludde!” says he.  “What! is he concerned in that, too?”

And then I told him what I had hitherto kept to myself—­that incident upon the road when Cludde flung the coin at me.

“On my life, Humphrey,” he said, “I should not care to have you for an enemy.”

And then we parted.

I left next morning, promising to see my friends as often as possible before I received the summons which I hoped for from Admiral Benbow.  Mr. Allardyce lent me one of his horses, which he was kind enough to place at my service while I remained at home.  In my breast pocket I carried a warrant in due form for the arrest of Cyrus Vetch.

There was a great surprise awaiting me at Shrewsbury.  I asked the little maid who answered my knock at Mr. Vetch’s door for Mistress Pennyquick, and felt some astonishment that the door had not been opened by the good dame herself, for she had no maid when I left her, doing all the housework herself.  The girl stared at me.

“Is Mistress Pennyquick within?” I repeated.

“No, sir:  but would you like to see Mistress Vetch?”

I was minded to refuse, and thought of going on to Mr. Vetch’s offices where I knew I should find him at this time of day.  I felt a certain annoyance at Mr. Vetch marrying (’twas unreasonable, I admit), and wondered whether poor old Becky had been dismissed, or was dead.  But while I stood hesitating, I heard the well-remembered voice from the interior of the house—­“Tell the man the coffee is not fit to drink, and if I have any more of it I’ll say goodby to Mr. Huggins and see if Mr. Martin can serve me better.”

“What, Becky!” I cried; “d’you think I’m a grocer’s boy after all?”

There was a scream, and my old friend came flying towards me, her cap (with lilac trimmings) shaken askew by her haste.

“Oh, my boy!” she cried, flinging her arms about me.  “Drat the girl!

“How many times have I told you to ask visitors into the parlor!

“Oh, my dear, precious boy!”

“’Tis not her fault,” I said, giving the good creature an answering hug; “I asked for Mistress Pennyquick.”

“Which my name is Vetch, and has been for six months come Saturday.  He would have it so, though I told him Vetch wasn’t a name to my taste.  But there!  What was a poor lone widow to do?  A lawyer have got such a tongue!”